Bizzare Bar
'''Wing n Thruster ''Fashioned from multiple suites which have had their adjoining walls removed, The Wing and Thruster provides a modestly spacious lounge area for the commander and crew of the Argosy. A bar is set just inside the door along one wall and is manned by the barkeep- Oilcan who knows when to say when -most of the time - even if some of his patrons may not. Throughout the rest of the lounge are scattered tables and booths that provide seating for nearly any size Decepticon. A large glassteel window provides a view of the skies through which the Argosy is currently flying, and patrols of Seekers and flights of Sweeps can be seen entering and leaving the hangar from this vantage point. A large trophy case has been erected along the wall behind the bar and is filled with momentos of past battles. Type +case to have a closer look. Along the shorter side wall is an elliptical meeting table with a holographic display on the wall beside it. One or more Sweeps can usually be found here, planning a Hunt or reviewing footage from past missions. Entering +hboard will show you what the Sweeps are currently up to, if you so desire. And +commands will display available commands for the meeting table. At the top of the board glows their current primary objective: ''PRIORITY OBJECTIVE: To make pay those who refuse to bow before Galvatron's Might Blueshift is sitting on a chair in the bar, with a large package from ebay. He rubs his hands eagerly as he starts to carefully unwrap it, laughing evilly Pitchfork is standing on a table, etching something into the wall with what looks like a head-laser from a sweep mounted on a plaster Thomas Jefferson bust. It is an abstract well etching for sure, but it resembles the works of Polonius Nightbreek, a famed Technocratic Etcher from Gorbulon Z, during the Slimeglob Rennaisance. "Hey Blue Redshift, I hoope you got those things I mailed you," he says "No Pitchfork!" Blueshift responds. "I left those in my room, but rest assured I shall be expanding my aft ports with it soon. No, this is a new Faster Than Light Drive, look!" He leaps up and takes out a tiny USB stick. He then removes his codpiece and slides out a huge tube, replacing it with the tiny stick. "See Pitchfork, see how mighty and impressive it makes me look!" "I don't understand what just happened," Pitchfork says, not even looking at Blueshift as he does so. "It was probably gross, though, like an Amazon Rhino-Hippo Plus Sizze Model from Grobathian Apparel. They think ugly models makes them look cool and progressive, but it really just makes them look like Sweeps or Sky Lynxes." He jumpkicks a napkin dispenser and throws his jefferson laser at this other Seeker guy, who has a nerf bat, and hits a home run with it. "Awesome job, dude. You hit it out the park. Anyway, FTL hasn't been cool since Pants Hackerman slung the ultimate laser chord in X22. You do mean Farcical Torando Lasercore, right?" "Yes" lies Blueshift. "Yes of course Pitchfork, that is exactly it." He slams his codpiece back on, smashing his new drive into little bits as he does so, and walks over to the seeker, throwing all his old tubing in the direction of Runamuck's face. "What are you doing Pitchfork, I have no idea, however I am better at it than you" "God, I was playing priceless artifact batball, which I happen to lead the league in 'most honorable pitches' which is something they made up just for me, because we started the league last week. It's okay if you haven't heard of it, it's pretty new," Pitchfork says, grabbing the nerfbat from his friend Crowtools. He snaps the bat and golden liquid runs down its sides, "Quick, Tealshift, drink some of this, it will make you really tough and manly." Blueshift grabs the bat and drinks it, the liquid covering his whole body APART FROM HIS RIGHT HEEL, where a leaf fell, thus making it vunerable. "Fantastic!" Blueshift shouts. "Shall we go sack Troy now?" "Troy is a pretty nice guy,, iif you're referring to the Hilactian Hypno-Owl that's the President of Barfing Militant Records, which is the only Troy you should ever refer to. I think you shouldn't put any sacks on him, he might hypnotize you into being his new hit artist," Pitchfork says with a sigh, crushing a mobile spacebridge in his hand, "and you don't want to deal with the royalties. They pay you in... @toad." Blueshift shudders. "Oooh, I don't ever want that again. They spent weeks calling me Greenshift, and all that frogspawn was so... unthemely. Anyway" He thumps a huge package down on the nearest table. "That reminds me. In here I've got a timebomb I want to post to the militant dimension. Do you remember the address at all?" Scratching his head, Pitchfork does not acctually scratch his head so much as he has an awesome new tattoo, and is looking at it. That tattoo is Octopunch riding a Purple Vortex into Nemesis Prime's outstretched hands. "Let me Google my address book blog. In my robot brain." Pitchfork's optics flash web addresses so new that they are just being registered by the universe itself. "Hmmm, 1997 North Mexitown Dr, Ollin-Ville, Alternate-Mexico FX-Whiteline-295." "Whiteline?" queries Blueshift. "Wasn't he that Junkion that got arrested for diddling those kids? What's he doing in the militant dimension." Blueshift thinks for a bit, and writes "TO MILITANTS AND WHITELINE!!!!!!!111" on the top of the parcel. He writes it with a pen that is actually a bottle universe full of tiny little people. The act of using it causes a galactic-scale catastrophe that wipes out billions of civilisations. Blueshift chews on the pen a bit. "Hmm what else?" There is a red rotary phone on the bar. Pitchfork picks up the receiver and says, "Hello, Commissioner? Yes, this is Pitchfork. I need you to do something for me. You know the one. Yes, thank you. You lived as a warriors ans died to an hero." He hangs up the phone, and a discotentacle breaks through the floor. The tentacle is making a drumbeat that's like ummchickummchickboomboom as it draws a picture of Fuisillade on the packaage. A perfect picture. And she is fully clothed. "Yeah," Pitchfork says, "It drew better Fusillades before it sold out." The tentacle gets sad and leaves. Blueshift stares at the tentacle with a scowl. "At least it wasn't that giant alien testacle that kept breaking through the floor after that horrific misprint" he mutters as he munches on a packet of Rancid Onion flavour Space Raiders. "Primus Pitchfork look at this packaging. It has a picture of an ALIEN on it, how cool is that. And only ten pee" "Pee? You never give pee to anyone for any reason, they can see your whole history through pee. Not that I've ever done anything uncool, but with a simple pee-test they could see that time you felt up that Breastforce guy because you thought he was a targetmaster. That was really uncool, so never let anyone take your pee," Pitchfork says, kicking over a statue of Scorponok holding a statue of Mega Zarak holding a statue of Botcon Exclusive Scorpius Primal. "I hear they only market those things to Sweeps, Spacecraft and other naive people, anyway. Say... don't tell anyone I said this, but you look positively UPGRADED." "Yes, yes I do" says Blueshift, crunching loudly on the corn-based snacks, since the packet says that it will keep away evil space aliens. "Thank you Pitchfork you have taught me well. I will sleep soundly tonight." "I met this guy named Pugwash the other day, he was sort of lazy... he reminded me of you," Pitchfork says, counting all of the twigs in his cockpit and covering them with Nucleon. "Sadly, I am on shift in like 15 minutes. You know how Scourge gets if he doesn't get refuled at exactly 1 o'clock while you read him a nursery rhyme. I think it's Scourge, anyway, they all look alike." He shrugs, "It's not racist, Cyanshift, it's just an observation. If I wanted a lecture, I'd listen to an old Orion Pax spoken word album. You know, the one where he does that 'What's the DEAL with Responsibility' bit? Ahahahahahahahahahaha." Pitchfork does not smile asw he laughs.